


House of Shadows

by Sigynthefaithful



Category: AU - Fandom, Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Intersex Loki, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, around 1925, brothel, deviants and perverts maybe, don't open if it's not your cup of tea, licentious language, not of the Loki/Thor type, they are not related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigynthefaithful/pseuds/Sigynthefaithful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The characters look like the characters you know and love, they have similar traits, but no superpowers and vague connection to the movieverse and Norse Myths.<br/>It should be a dark story of drama, angst and murder, with lots of sex and pain. We'll see what comes out of it.<br/>Can't summarize what I haven't written yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains explicit language, depictions of violence, perversions, incest (but not of the Loki&Thor kind, they are not related), murder. Please do not read if this offends you. I shall continue only if this will rise some interest. I'm open to interactive suggestions. English is not my maternal language, please point out any grating blunders. Please also point out if the warnings are not appropriate and if i should add more. Any comment is a good comment.

Madame Frigga's etablissement is the best in town. It's not only that her whores are the best selection one could ask for or that the old mansion is discreetly located on the outskirts, near the edge of the forest; it's also the variety of the activities one can enjoy in the luxurious decors. One can have dinners of choice at the 'Ygdrassil' and the finest drinks; one can enjoy a cabaret show or a private dance; one can choose one of the house's own employees or bring along one's own escort; any perversity, vice, kink that won't lead to severe damage or death will most certainly be contented here… if one can afford it because it is also the most expensive place of the sorts. It's also internationally famous and has seen some illustrious faces crossing its threshold and revisiting most of the times.

The police will never search the house without forewarning, because it has its own benefits and because of the city notables' support. The local law enforcement also knows that Madame Frigga has her own ethics; she will never allow strong drugs in her house, children under the age of thirteen and hard core torture.

When one first meets Madame, she seems a real haughty lady, from the tips of her toes to the highest perfectly styled lock on her head. She didn't allow herself to grow old the ugly way. She's in her mid fifties, but she looks like early forties. She has tobacco blond hair, ashen eyes, a smooth face and wears make-up and outfits in great taste. Her perfect figure is the object of envy for many younger women in town.

When one comes to know her better, she is quite a character. She has this thing about ancient Germanic mythology, hence the names and references. She likes to think of her 'protégées' as her children, she loves them all in her own peculiar way and most of them appreciate that and love her back. She's also quite severe regarding the rules of the house, both for her 'protégées' and employees, as for the customers. She is the absolute Queen Mother of 'Ygdrassil' and rules with a hand of steel in a silken glove.

There are fifteen pages in the photo album at the reception. Each page is dedicated to one of the 'stars'. The order in the album is given by how successful each one is in attracting clients and their money. The first pages are for the less productive. The last pages are for the best. Some of them also perform cabaret numbers. They are exempted from house duties and allowed to schedule their clients because of the tiring rehearsals and shows.

Gerðr has the first page. She is a pretty, shy, little thing, sweet sixteen, but not very inspiring, which she is happy about. She's mostly useful when worried fathers or friends push shy virgins into visiting the brothel. She ran away from home trying to escape an abusive stepfather. Frigga picked her up from the streets three years ago, half frozen and starved and gave her a warm home and a loving family.

Snotra is the oldest. She's thirty-four and she's on page number two. She was never a real beauty, but she masters a couple of useful techniques and has a list of devoted customers, mostly elder gentlemen, too shy to try the younger prostitutes. She is also very well educated and can sustain an intelligent table conversation any time required. She failed to find work as a governess and landed in Frigga's yard. She's also a teacher for the rest of Frigga's 'children'. Her didactic abilities go beyond those of an ordinary teacher; she also supervises the sexual skill development of the newcomers shoulder to shoulder with Frigga.

Page number three: Höðr is twenty-four, blond and cute, but unfortunately almost blind. He can see enough not to bump into walls and furniture, but details and moving figures are a blur. He always states that he's happy about it because, even if he can't see all the beauty of the surrounding world, he also can't see its ugliness. He happily accepts any vapid client because he's an affectionate young man. Some of the clients love the sightless way he touches them, mapping their bodies. He has a lovely voice and seconds the leading singers. He also plays the guitar and several other string instruments.

Sjöfn is eighteen and a nymphomaniac. She'd endure anything from a client just to be fucked. She'd take any willing person in the house to her bed, anytime, just to be fucked. Frigga keeps her on mild tranquilizers most of the time, for her own good. She's on page number four and she's really beautiful with her waves of auburn hair and brown amber eyes, pert freckles about her nose and shoulders. She came to 'Ygdrassil' when she was fifteen, of her own free will, to make a profession out of her disorder.

Iðunn and Nanna are the youngest of the bunch, fourteen and thirteen and a half. They just start to look like women, but are still not fully developed. That doesn't mean they don't attract many connoisseurs and they only look innocent. Iðunn has a crush on Bragi, the guy that writes the verses for their shows and Nanna thinks she's in love with handsome Balder. They are on page five and six. Frigga found them a year ago at the corner of a street, trying to sell their youth for a hot meal. They are runaways too, like Gerðr, stories much alike. Iðunn's hair is like spun silver, she's what is called a natural platinum blonde, blue eyes like forget-me-nots, pink pouty lips and rosy white skin. She loves apples and devours them whenever. She could live on apples. Nanna has dark chestnut tresses, brown eyes and honey coloured skin. She has a sweet tooth and her nightstand's drawer is full of candy and chocolates. The two live in the same room and sleep in the same bed, drawing comfort of each other.

Nótt is the spitting image of an African ebony statue. Her proud façade shies off the timid customers. She has page number seven. She likes to bite. She picked up the habit trying to fight off the guys in her brother's gang. He was selling her to them since she was twelve. She decided to sell herself for better money and keep some of it too. She's twenty seven now, but she could easily pretend she's seventeen. Her perfect skin and willowy body are much appreciated. She has yellow eyes, like cats and claws like one. She has a favourite customer and the others chaff at her because of it. She always pays back.

The eighth page goes to Sigyn. She's tall, severely beautiful, dark blonde with hazel eyes, more green than brown, athletic and all in all intimidating. She is an acrobat and performs an equilibrium number in the show. She could strangle a man to death with her muscular legs. She's well suited for rough sex because she can both take it and give it. She worked only as an artist at the beginning, but she needed more money to raise her out of wedlock twins, Nari and Váli. She's hopelessly in love with one of her younger colleagues. He sometimes allows her company, for "training sessions", as he calls them or "girls' times". She's happy to have even that. She's twenty nine and applied for the job as an entertainer ten years ago. She started to sell her charms after two more years.

Vár and Vör are number nine and ten. They're both Asian, they don't tell their age, never did, two porcelain petite figures with black hair and slanting eyes, masters in exotic, erotic massage involving all limbs, all body parts and most body cavities. They love to work together on customers and colleagues all the same. All their clients are scheduled. They chose this life instead of a sweat shop. They declare that this is far better than a Chinese whorehouse. They teach everyone exotic tricks they picked up in China Town, like giving blow jobs with a mouthful of hot tea and all the erotic pressure points. They've been at 'Ygdrassil' for ten years now, but they haven't changed a bit. They like to help anyone in need, even 'nursing' poor Sjöfn with her predicament.

Fulla is on page eleven. Nothing astonishing: she's a buxom twenty-five years old woman and she has the biggest breasts in the house. Hell, maybe in the whole town! Even some women say they would titty-fuck her if they could. She has a pretty doll-face too, but it goes mostly unnoticed. The plentiful bosom obfuscates anything else. She worked as a housemaid. The mistress of the house had nothing against her loosen her legs for the young master. The boy had to start somewhere, didn't he? But when she caught her middle aged husband panting heavily between said legs and bouncy breasts, she threw the girl out and spread the word, so no one would hire her. Madame Frigga was more than willing to offer her a job and she didn't mind her past antics. As a matter of fact she favoured them. The middle aged husband was a regular client now... and so was his son.

Baldr holds page number twelve. He is physical perfection. His body could be the most wanted model for any visual artist. He's beautifully chiseled and there's nothing too much or too little about him. His face is unnaturally symmetric and all in all he looks like the statue of Apollo, waves of golden hair onto his shoulders, sky-blue eyes and very dark brown brows and lashes. His full, red lips are the very definition of sin. He's good with both women and men, but won't accept physical brutality, so he has to gratify himself with his current place. His intelligence level isn't very high, but he's good natured and everybody likes him. He's twenty and is Höðr's younger brother. They were both born in a brothel, but they don't know their parents. Frigga knew their mother and probably who sired them too, but she won't let them know. 'Too dangerous...'she says. Höðr thinks she is just making up a story of mystery to make them feel important. Baldr isn't exactly happy to hear that.

The redhead twins, Freyr and Freyja, are the proud number thirteen and fourteen. They're nineteen and so similar they can confuse one when dressed alike. They have rusty red wild locks reaching the small of their backs and eyes so dark they seem black. Their lean bodies are androgynous, long limbs, slim torsos, round, firm buttocks. Freyja has a tinier waist and the soft curves of her hips betray her when naked and watched from behind. When looked upon up front, she presents a pair of small, pert breasts with pale pink nipples, while her brother's chest is flatter. They perform private shows as a pair, go for multiple players and toys and they don't shy away from anything that won't leave scars. They are terribly smart, terribly curious, terribly vicious, terribly in love and they ran away from a prosperous home to be together against the law. They don't care about conventions and they can't stand the thought of being separated. Their interdependence makes them vulnerable and dangerous at the same time.

And finally, number fifteen: the freak in the show. Everybody wants to see and touch him at least once. He's grown tall; very tall, six foot three. His skin hardly gets tanned, only burned, so he doesn't even try any more. The blue veins are visible through the alabaster thin layer. His hair is raven black and there is a reddish strand starting on the right side of his forehead that everybody believes he dyes, but he was born with it. He wears his curly hair long and combed back. His lips are not very full, but perfectly bow shaped. His big, shiny eyes are an impossible jade green, shadowed by long, dark lashes. He neatly plucks his brows and he doesn't stand body hair on him. He looks like a dancer and that's what he is, supple, almost thin, but broad shouldered and showing well defined muscles. He has small shell-shaped ears, pierced in many places, prominent cheekbones and long, graceful neck and limbs.

Why is he a freak? That is revealed when he's naked and spreads his thighs. He's got a nice, normal penis, even impressive compared to the average, but that's not all. His sack is split in two, creating the external folds of a vulva and his cock starts right from the place where a normal cunt presents a clit. He's got everything else: the small labia, pink and wet, the vagina, but a physician told him his uterus is infantile, not fit to carry a pregnancy, and that he has only one more or less functional ovary. The testicles are fine, but only surgery could bring them together. It's too risky, the doctor tells him, too many complications and, since there's no immediate danger of a pregnancy, he gives up the idea. The Asian duo provides herbs to keep the danger away and there are also other contraceptive methods he learned of. Anyway, he believes he's making more money as a hermaphrodite than if he were plain gendered.

He's the only one Frigga paid for. She bought him from a band of gypsies when he was ten and belly-dancing to earn his living. They said they found him in a wicker basket abandoned nearby their horses when he was just a babe. They bared him waist down to show her the oddity. Frigga bargained for the peculiar but beautiful child and bought him from the gypsies. She paid for ballet and dance lessons so he became skilled in many dancing styles, but belly-dance was the most requested for the private shows. She auctioned his virginity for big money when he reached fifteen; not earlier, because he was so skinny and looking too fragile. The winner was none other than the real owner of 'Ygdrassil', Mr. Odin Borson; the richest (that being debatable in the eyes of Howard Stark, his rival in wealth) and most respected man in town (also debatable, maybe most feared...), without whose permission nothing moved and nobody thrived.

He didn't have a real name before he came to 'Ygdrassil', the gypsies called him 'Lucky', for he was lucky to be rescued. Now he's the most wanted and expensive prostitute in the city and his stage name is Loki. However, the name on his papers reads Lucky Eli Smith (courtesy to Frigga's personal preferences and lack of imagination), which Snotra soon conveys to 'Loki Liesmith', since he's the most talented deceiver she's ever met. The nickname sticks and he's kind of proud of it.

He picked up some bad habits from the gypsies; lying and stealing came natural to him, much easier than being honest. At least he was smart about that: he'd weave as much truth in his lies as to make them perfectly believable, even more than the actual truth and he would never steal something if the suspicion would lead to him; he'd usually steal small items like an earring, a cuff, a loose bracelet or a thin necklace from very drunk customers - never solid objects or pairs - or even small amounts of money out of their wallets or purses they would hardly notice in their state of intoxication... or bliss.

He never refuses gifts, no matter how puny or outrageous, accepting them with a blazé and princely attitude. He stashes his small fortune in a box under a floorboard in his personal room, ever careful for his future. He knows this kind of life will not last forever and there isn't anybody else to care for him, so he takes care of himself. He never keeps much money in the box, changing it for jewellery or gems. Madame Frigga provides for them well enough, there's little need for extra small luxuries, but some of the girls just can't resist a nice dress or some shiny bauble, some are addicted to drugs or alcohol, so they spend their extra money careless, like there is no tomorrow. Not Loki; he indulges himself sometimes, but he always calculates the pros and the contras when doing so. He doesn't make concessions about quality, though. He always buys the best cosmetics and, even if second hand, the best clothes and shoes.

He is also incredibly fastidious. He always launders and/or cleans his underwear and costumes separately. He never borrows anything that would touch his skin intimately and never lends anything that personal. If he is in the mood, he just gives things away for good except jewellery. That can be easily sanitized. He always has cleaning means and disinfectants at hand to prepare his clients. He manages to do that without being ostentatious or offending. He has terrible memories from the past, but as soon as he became famous and sought after, he also became picky and firmly refused to receive anyone who disagreed with his methods, never mind their money. Frigga never berated him on that.

He would never forget his first time and how ill he was after, almost dying from the infection. He'd been delirious for days and if Madame Frigga didn't refuse to send him to a common hospital and provided the best care there was to be found right there, in the house, he would have certainly lost his life.

Borson used him savagely, no regard for hygiene, no compassion or even common sense. He used Loki's openings in turns, repeatedly, after breaking him bleeding both ways and, since cleanliness wasn't his chief concern, bacteria attacked the injured areas in no time. As soon as the inflamed tissues started to ooze, Frigga called Dr. Banner, a revolutionary surgeon who wasn't very popular among the conservative and certainly not among his colleagues that didn't adopt new theories with ease. The little Asian girls also came up with herbal recipes and ingredients from the Chinese district. The medical procedures and loving care returned Loki to life, but the trauma grew deep roots in his brain. Luckily for him Borson never asked for his services again. Loki's hatred was so powerful that he would have tried to kill the man if he got the chance. Frigga had a hand in this too. Everyone in the house and a few outsiders knew she visited Borson, but no one found out what has been said on the occasion.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet 18 years old Thor and his friends. Eavesdrop on Frigga and Odin.

Thor was just going out to meet his friends for a tennis game when he heard angry voices in the lobby. There was the booming voice of his father and the musical one of a woman. He risked a peek down the stairs. His father was wearing his usual silken dressing gown over his inside clothes and was obviously fuming, dark red in the face, like near a stroke of apoplexy. He didn't recognize the woman. She wasn't young any more, but she was well preserved, tall, blonde and elegant, with a majestic air about her. This was too interesting to miss, he thought. No woman crossed their threshold since his mother passed away, except for the servants and the wives or daughters of Borson's business partners on the rare occasions his father received.

The woman spoke low, but in the end she raised her voice a little and Thor heard:

"… you almost killed the poor child!"

"Why should I care about a filthy, gipsy whore? And even if, who'd take your worthless word against mine?" his father growled. "You'd better fucking leave my house immediately, before I personally kick your arse out! You keep forgetting your fucking place! You keep forgetting whose hand is feeding you and your fucking whores! Actually, my fucking whores!"

Thor's jaw dropped. Never before in his eighteen years of life did he hear words as such coming out from his father's mouth.

"You keep forgetting some minor details too!" the woman hissed. "Your whores feed themselves and me, and they add to your wealth! You may not wish me to produce evidence for this part of your income, am I right? So you'd better watch your dirty mouth and don't even think of harming me or ever touch my Loki again, or so help me God…"she stopped abruptly, turned on her heels and left, slamming the door behind her.

Thor was in shock. He slowly backed away from the banister and entered his room, not being able to process what he just heard. He sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, back slumped, looking in front of him but seeing nothing. He always held his father in high regard, even if he considered him a bit cold and unaffectionate. What he just heard from downstairs toppled every belief he had about his father. 'Income? His whores?' No matter how much he tried, the words between his father and that woman left no place for interpretation. His mouth went dry. Instead of pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the guerdon by his writing table, he rose and went out of his room, to the library. He opened his father's liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff glass of brandy. He sat in the dark, finished his glass, then poured himself another one. He was drunk as an owl within the hour.

-o-

Anthony Edward Stark parked his brand new 1925 Bentley Supersports automobile in front of Borson's house. He was very annoyed because Thor was already an hour late and ruined his altogether busy schedule. Sophie called, already at the tennis club together with Natalie, Virginia, Francis, Hogun – the rich Hong Kong student -, Clint and Steve. Only Tony and Thor were missing, the latter being expected to pick Tony up, as promised a day before.

He rang the doorbell fully incensed. The butler opened and politely showed him in.

"If you would be so kind to wait for a minute, Mr. Stark, I will inquire about the young master. May I offer you some refreshment?"

Tony just flicked his gloved hand as dismissal, still angered with his friend. The butler swiftly went up the stairs.

Tony paced around the lobby, looking at the framed photos on the wall with sharp chocolate brown eyes, biting at his gloves.

The butler returned in less than a minute.

"Sir, I regret to inform you that the young master is feeling poorly at the moment and will not be able to join you."

"What? All righty, then I'll join him."

He wormed his way past the flabbergasted butler so fast, that the man didn't even have the time to protest and climbed the stairs two at a time, still wearing his driver's coat, gloves and hat. He knew exactly where he was headed, since it wasn't his first visit at the Borson residence. He entered his friend's room without knocking and stopped right in front of the door.

Thor was sprawled crosswise on his bed, dressed for tennis, shoes on and all, snoring quite loud, stinking of booze sky high. There was a toppled crystal glass by the bed adding to the stale alcohol smell in the room.

Tony's goatee connected to his bow tie. He never saw Thor really drunk. That was his prerogative, for crying out loud! He quickly recovered and scribbled a hurried note on a piece of paper on Thor's writing desk. There was nothing more he could do. He left his friend to his drunken dreams and closed the door behind him. The butler was waiting for him at the base of the stairs.

"Call Fatso for me, will you, Jarvis?"Tony said; his butler being Jarvis, all butlers were Jarvis for him.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" the man replied, raising a brow.

"Thor's bodyguard, my good man! The one with the impossible German name and a savage horde of kids, the cook's husband!"

"Sir means Volstagg… "

After a quick muttered talk with Thor's burly bodyguard, Tony jumped back in his car and drove to the club.

-o-

"Something wrong with Thor?" Natalie asked frowning.

"I'm not sure... Found him drunk as a fiddler; never seen him like that before. He used to carry the rest of us home, not the other way around." Tony answered taking off his hat and running absent fingers through his ever wild, wavy, chestnut hair.

"Not me..." Nat mumbled. Nobody contradicted her; they all knew the redhead could drink them under the table on Vodka of all drinks. The only exterior sign that she was drunk were her overblown pupils, her pale moonstone eyes seeming black then, and the stiff manner she walked.

"Is this a joke?" Sophie asked annoyed."'Cause if it is, it's of bad taste."

"Cross my heart and hope to die!" Tony followed his words with the fitting gesture. Then he described everything in detail to his sister and their friends.

"This is so not Thor! He enjoys a cup, but knows how to hold his drinks and never falls off his feet!" Francis Fandrall the Third exclaimed, as expected since almost all his statements were exclamatory. He was so taken aback that he even forgot to arrange a stray lock of blond hair gone askew about his forehead.

"Most intriguing... We will have to wait. Are we changing our initial plans?" Hogun asked, ever pragmatic.

"I quite lost my impetus for tennis..." Virginia mumbled.

"Yes, we've been wasting our time for two hours now." Steve said. "He could've at least called."

"Let's go see a movie!"

"Cliiiint! We've already seen all this week's new movies!" Virginia wailed.

"Dancing?" Francis dared.

"Dancing without Thor?!" Sophie yelled.

The three young women attacked him with their purses shouting epithets at him. A dancing evening would not do without the best partner they ever had.

-o-

Tony invited them all to another boring games evening at the Stark house. Their mother was long gone, a cancer eating her away from her beloved children, and their father was presently attending some science expo in Paris. Howard never minded his children's business very much, so they had mostly each other to rely on and too much freedom on their hands.

Tony and Sif (she was born when he wasn't three yet and he couldn't articulate her name correctly) had gone through a very confused period of their lives, trying to get over their mother's death and their father's lack of affection and attention, Tony resorting to drugs, alcohol and debauchery, Sophie exhausting herself with sports and consuming men like crackers... until they met Natalie and Clint.

There was an odd couple if any! Natalie Romanoff was, apparently, the rich heiress of some Russian princeling, or duke, or something, or so she claimed, and Clint used to be a circus artist before he met her. He fell in love with her at first sight during a show, when he invited her on stage to participate in his target shooting number. She refused to be blindfolded and she never flinched while his arrows flew at her and embedded themselves in the wooden board behind her... neither when he threw knives... nor when he threw axes. In the madness of a moment he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately right there on the stage at the end of his number. She immediately asked him to leave the circus and travel with her. Whatever the truth was about her, Clint never told. He followed her lead, like a devoted slave, but no one else was allowed to boss him around.

The couple took seriously to rescue Tony and Sif and they did it. Nobody ever doubted that they would. After setting things better they kept on traveling from time to time, but always came back to their friends. Tony noticed that the times Natalie and Clint were off to somewhere, there were news of jewellery and art thefts around the world, but he never voiced any suspicion. It wasn't his concern. They were his friends and he loved them.

As a matter of fact he loved all his friends: Francis Fandrall the Third with his ridiculous imperial blond beard and all his snobbish mannerisms, with whom he was acquainted since their nannies were pushing their baby buggies through the park; Steve Rogers, the poor but proud boy of Irish and Italian parentage, with clear cornflower eyes and righteous soul he befriended during their military term; Virginia Potts, slender as a needle and sharp as one, school comrade of his sister, whom he secretly adored; Hogun T'chung, square jawed, slanted black eyed, already naturalized through all the schools he attended... and Thor, lonely son of a cold and cruel father, youngest in the gang, their golden puppy, as Natalie once affectionately called him, tall and broad, towering over them all, quick tempered but big-hearted at the same time, the one they all felt like protecting in spite of his oversize athletic stature and strength.

He even loved his rebel baby sister, who was driving her own car, wearing trousers on a daily basis, drinking, smoking and swearing like a sailor, ready to punch a nose in a brawl and intimidating any man that wasn't Hogun.

-o-

Thor woke up in a terrible condition. His first thought was 'I'm dying...' He opened his eyes a little and tried to focus. It was dark outside and he could see stars through the open curtains. He rolled over and tried to get himself up. Easier said then done... He groaned and sat on the edge of the bed gingerly cradling his head. He was very thirsty, so he gathered his courage and stood on wobbly feet. He patted the wall all the way to the switch, then squeezed his eyes shut to evade the shock. When his eyes felt like functioning somewhat, he squinted and headed to the carafe. The water was warm and tasted metallic, but it helped. Then something else drew his attention: a sheet of paper out of place on his writing table. It said in large letters: 'Call when you wake, never mind the hour. T'. He sighed and felt even worse if possible, then headed to the library, where the second telephone was, to call his friend.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor enlists, Odin has a stroke.   
> Happy holidays everybody!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I'm happy you stay with me and thank you for following my works, for the kudos, but I would also love some constructive criticism or just small talk. Couple of words won't hurt anybody, right? <3<3<3

"You can't just leave, Thor!" Ginny whined.

"Are you really sure about this?" Nat asked, piercing him with her pale gaze.

"Why so suddenly?" Fandrall joined the choir.

Tony was unusually quiet, brooding and rubbing his chin. Hogun and Steve were silent too, all the questions having been asked already.

"You have to tell us what happened; maybe you don't have to do something so radical!" Sif tried too.

"My friends," Thor sighed, "I thought this out very carefully. I'm sorry, I can't tell you the details, it is a family matter, but, believe me, I have to leave."

"But the French Foreign Legion?!" Clint glumly asked.

"The best place to put my mind at rest and only worry about survival. Besides, I like to train and to fight!" He turned towards Stark. "Tony, please, you promised to help me..."

"You what?!" Sif glared at her brother clearly enraged.

"I promised to help; I have connections..." Tony started

"You stupid, good for nothing jackass! If anything happens to him, it will be your fault!" she yelled.

"Don't blame him, the idea was entirely mine. He offered to help after I told him what plans I had. I would have left anyway, relying only on myself." Thor said softly.

"When do you plan to leave?" Hogun asked dispassionately.

"He's not leaving anywhere! He's Borson's only son and heir, his father won't consent to this madness!" Ginny said.

"Miss Virginia, my friends, I beg for your discretion. My father must not know of this venture of mine! I may even be rejected and come back. Please, I need you to trust me and help me! Don't make this harder than it already is! It saddens me to leave you, but I must!"

His seriousness and the dejected look in those sky blue eyes rendered them all hopelessly silent. Nat moved closer to him on the couch and hugged him without a word. Tony poured another round.

-o-

The few days left before Thor's departure were a blurry commotion, girls fighting boys over what he should take with him until Steve and Tony pointed out that they were the only ones with an accomplished military period and thus the only ones qualified to give advice. So the girls had to content themselves with buying comfortable cotton socks, plain handkerchiefs and towels and putting together a small collection of photos.

Thor had to have an accomplice in the house, so he chose Volstagg. The poor man loved him too much to betray his trust, but his wife, Hilde, caught him in the kitchen one day and pointed out that his father would certainly fire her husband for not stopping him and maybe her too, since he could suspect that she also knew about Thor's plans and then: '... what would become of their poor seven babies, huh?' Thor called Tony immediately and didn't even have to ask. His friend offered to hire anyone Borson would fire because of his son's folly. Hilde kissed Thor's forehead, blessing his heart and gave him a small silver icon of St. Michael to keep him safe.

They covered the departure by raucously planning a picnic, packing four cars and even taking a gramophone and discs along. Later they would tell Borson and the police that Thor didn't even join them, calling at the last moment that he was sick. His car was found and retrieved in the nearest seaport and Borson found out that his son may have embarked for France. He immediately hired a private detective to follow and find Thor, but, by the time the man found a lead in Paris, the fugitive was nowhere to be found any more. Only 16 weeks later Borson received a post card reading 'I'm fine, greetings from Morocco, Thor.' and Tony received a long letter, for all their friends, heavily censored, but still, the news and the photo made them happy...

Since the contract with the Legion was probably not on Thor's real name and age, Borson had no way of attacking it or even get hold of evidence that a son of his joined in. In his ire he had a mild stroke that put him to bed a couple of month and he never totally recovered, losing the sight of one eye and sitting mostly in a wheelchair, but his mind suffered no consequence, so he went back to exercise his influence over the town.

-o-

The next five years passed easy for some, tougher for others, letters and photos crossing the seas both ways.

Thor was 'lucky' enough to be enlisted very quickly due to the massive casualties in the Legion's rows because of the Rif War. He also fought, was wounded several times, was noted and awarded military honours during the last year of the same war. He was disappointed, though, and the war left a bitter taste behind because he sometimes doubted he fought on the right side. His Senior Corporal used to placate the likes of him saying: 'You didn't enlist for a just cause; you came here for the benefit of your sorry hides!' And truth it was, no matter the reasons each of them joined the Legion.

The next four years were almost free of conflicts, except for the usual brawls with unruly nomad groups. He chose not to renew his contract and was honourably discharged with the rank of sergeant.

In the meantime Howard Stark died in a car crash and, after the required mourning period, Tony started seriously courting Virginia 'Pepper' Potts and thwarting Odin Borson at any given occasion.

Sophie stilled somewhat, taking Hogun as her main lover and incessantly nagging her older brother.

Natalie and Clint were swinging between continents and even met Thor twice in Casablanca.

Francis Fandrall the Third went heartbroken because of Sif – or maybe Pepper? – and was trying out all the city's night attractions. Steve had to follow because he wasn't going to let his friend be mugged or beat more than not. He was the perfect man for the job since he had an absurd tolerance to alcohol. Tony, Clint and Hogun secretly helped. Natalie found out eventually and started to blackmail them whenever she wanted something. Sif suspected bits and pieces, but couldn't wrench much out of Hogun. Ginny knew a lot, but played clueless. The guys had to believe they had a little freedom, no?


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an insight of 'Ygdrassil'. Sorry it seems unfinished... maybe it is. I lacked concentration lately. Warning (or invite ;-)), explicit description of sexual activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for taking time to read. i hope it's not totally unpleasant. <3

                It was Monday, their day off. The house was closed every Monday and on important holidays. In spite of their church condemned activities and her not-so-orthodox personal convictions, Frigga insisted on avoiding frictions as much as possible.

 After the very late breakfast Loki called for a ‘waxing session’. The proposition was met with enthusiastic screams; they all knew they would share the dirtiest and most amusing stories, as they always did during these gatherings.  Everybody hurried to collect the needed items and meet in the large laundry room. The washing was done before noon so they had the entire warmed up place to themselves. They spread newspapers on the cement floor to catch the dripping wax mixture and placed two long wooden benches above them. Some brought small stools from the kitchen. The spirit lamps were lit, the wax was slowly melting and the old linen stripes were at hand.

Baldr was missing, as always, too proud of his curly body hair that made him look powdered in gold in the light. So was Fulla, who’s clients didn’t exactly care about how hairy she was, or even liked her bushy. Frigga and Snotra never participated, preferring shaving instead, as did Gerðr, complaining about the pain.

They followed the same ritual for over five years now, except for the times they had newcomers introduced. Loki and Nótt would be the first to start. They both enjoyed the wax when hottest, to the point of blistering the skin. Sjöfn and one of the twins were next, Freyja and Freyr always quarrelling who to go first. Vár and Vör followed, then Sigyn ad Höðr and, finally, the latest acquisitions, Iðunn and Nanna presently.

Modesty was useless between the members of their colourful cluster since they knew each other intimately. Loki lay sprawled on his back, hands upholding his head, while Sigyn spread the wax and Freyr applied the stripes and swiftly removed them. They started at the arms and were going down.

He was telling them about the client Heimdall, their porter and strong hand, and he himself threw out one of the nights before.

“The guy was loaded with money and was highly recommended by prince G... When Frigga gave him the album, he said ‘no need, I wish to visit Loki’, so she asked what services he would require. They settled on oral, normal and anal, in this specific order, since Mother knows nothing goes with me after anal without the cap. She asks if he has any unusual needs. He says he’s prone to slap his partners, but playfully, nothing violent. Mother knows I’m fine with that, so he pays the fee and she suggests smiling that, if he is greatly satisfied, he may be so inclined to gift a little something to me personally, as she always suggests to first time customers. “

He hisses and squeezes his eyes shut when Sigyn applies very hot wax on a sensitive spot on his chest, but doesn’t move a bit. He goes on:

“So, he comes to my room and I start my routine: I help him get comfortable, offer a glass of something, strip tease a little to warm up the air... He doesn’t look completely unpleasant, although he’s hairy as a bear and has a nose like a beetroot, all deep craters and such. I get to the business and pull out the guy’s prick. If you think his nose was ugly, than you have another thing coming! The damned thing is fucking hideous: a small purple head, like a fat rotten cherry, a livid trunk thickening to the base and, woe me! The fucking thing is hairy halfway and the smell! You wouldn’t believe it!” He shivers in remembrance or because Sigyn is working hot wax on his testes.

“I say to myself: ‘What the fuck? He paid honestly, so, that’s that!’ and I start cleaning the messy stuff. He’s not very happy about it, so I have to serve him the usual bullshit about me applying aphrodisiacs that will enhance his pleasure and stamina and so on. He’s fine with that and watches peacefully. When my whim is satisfied it’s already hard and even uglier if possible. At least most of the smell is gone. I close my eyes and do my best about it, careful to keep a hand over the hairy part. I swear to myself I won’t swallow the monstrosity if my life depends on it!”

The audience is amused and giggling. Not Sigyn; she only sighs.

“At some moment he pulls my hair and stops me. That’s not very pleasant, you all know I don’t like my hair abused. Still, I say nothing about it. He grumbles ‘bed’ and I comply. He’s not content that I’m flaccid so he roughly rubs my shaft and fingers my cunt. I kindly ask him to stick his fingers in the body cream bowl. He slaps my face quite hard yelling ‘shut it!’ and takes me quite dry, which I don’t like a bit, but I still say nothing. I don’t wait for him to fuck my arse dry as well, so, while he’s sucking on my neck and making sounds like an agonizing bull, I prepare my hole thoroughly. He takes me by surprise when he suddenly pulls out and turns me face down. He’s still angry that I don’t share his excitement, so he thinks to punish me. He plunges in brutally and spanks my buttocks grunting niceties like ‘ungrateful whore’, ‘I’ll make you scream’, ‘I’ll fuck you through and through’, nothing I haven’t heard before. Quite boring... “

Frey gestures him to turn on his belly, since the front is ready. Loki does and goes on.

“I whimper a little for his benefit, squeeze my muscles and say ‘yes, fuck me good, you big bear!’ Now, instead of being pleased and spill like a decent person, he wants to play swap holes. Of course I squirm and shove him off. ‘What the hell are you doing? This wasn’t the deal!’ I shout. He’s deeply displeased and hits me hard. I’m on my back, dizzy for a second and he is trying to take advantage and fuck my mouth again. That does it! I grab my blade from under the pillow and his ugly, motherfucking cock. He freezes. I smile. ‘You draw that ribbon, darling...’ I say sweetly, pointing it to him, and he does. Heimdall comes running and so does Frigga, of course. My left cheekbone is already becoming the loveliest dark purple and the picture doesn’t really need any explanation. I release the – hopefully – most hideous rod I’ll ever meet; Frigga gathers his garb and hisses: ‘You’re lucky I allow you to get dressed!’ and Heimdall only growls and points his _big_ gun at the poor sod. If he didn’t disfigure me, I’d have almost felt pity for the guy. He menaces loudly once he’s out the house, but the chief of police is enjoying his dinner off our lovely Sigyn here just then. He opens the window and calls for the agent waiting in the car to drive him home. The man ominously comes out in the light and the jackass runs to his automobile and disappears in a cloud of smoke, never to be seen around again. And they lived happily ever after.” He finishes, making most of the others laugh.

He’s standing now, while Sigyn cleans the traces of wax off with a mix of turpentine and some other oils. Freyja eyes him maliciously and says:

“What about the best story of them all, the one you never told, the fabulous tale of the deflowering of one Loki Silvertongue?”

Loki stiffens instantly. He lowers his chin and his lips become a red thread curved up like a sickle. His eyes shoot icy green flickers at the she-twin while her appalled brother noiselessly mouths ‘What the fuck?’ at her behind Loki’s back.

“Wouldn’t you like to hear that one, now?” he says, voice honey thick and sweet. “When your death wish overwhelms you, come to me and I’ll tell you that story!” he spits and leaves the room not bothering to put his bath robe back on.

“What the hell possessed you, Freyja?” Sigyn shouts at her and then so do Nótt, Vár and Vör and even her own brother.

“What?! He’s such an arrogant arsehole! He acts as if he were better than us! Let me tell you this: he’s just another whore and that’s it!” Freyja shouts back.

“You’re jealous he’s the best here, you bitch!” Nótt hisses at her, looking ready to sink her tusks in her milky neck.

Freyr knows a little more about his sister’s jealousy. She was fine as long as they were enjoying Loki together, but when she once caught Freyr and Loki sharing pleasures without her being present, she snapped... and it wasn’t nice to behold. She tries her best to taunt Loki whenever she has an opportunity ever since.

“You are so tiresome, sis.” He mutters.

“And you are a whore’s whore!” Freyja yells back, flushed pink.

He looks like he’s about to slap her, but then he relaxes and turns his back to her.

“Come on, Sigyn; let’s take care of you next.” He says, messing up the established order.

Iðunn and Nanna know better than to stick their noses in the steaming pot, but Iðunn smirks, having the best time ever watching the show. She doesn’t like Loki because he steals her favourite apples, the Golden Delicious sort,  whenever he can get his hands on them and is haughty to them ‘little girls’. Nanna makes a disapproving noise. She’s sweeter tempered and doesn’t take Loki’s pranks too serious. Neither does Höðr, but then he’s never Loki’s target. He can’t remember Loki ever being mean towards him; he only makes innocent jokes that make them both laugh. Baldr is more annoyed by the trickster because he _must always_ insult his brainpower... or lack of.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heterogeneous chapter. The girls, the boys, Thor, Loki, a bit of everyone. Thor's coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very long chapter, sorry. I hope you enjoy this story at least a little. It would be nice to have some words too.   
> Thanks for your time.

“He’s coming back!” Virginia shouts, flapping two written sheets of paper, obviously a letter.

She joins Sophie and Natalie at the small round table in their favourite coffee house, ‘The Dragonfly’. Nat snatches the letter and makes a short job of reading it, then hands it to Sif.

“I’ll wager there’s one waiting in our mailbox too...” she mutters, eyes trailing the hefty writing.

”There are less than two weeks left! How shall we ever manage to organize a decent welcome party?!” Pepper frowns and puts her cogs to work.

“Don’t worry your adorable little head over that. The guys will surely take care of it.” Nat mumbles cryptically.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sif narrows her eyes.

“If you’re thinking ‘Ygdrassil’...” Nat shrugs.

“Come on! The guys wouldn’t! It would mean to leave us out of it!” Pepper shouts.

Natalie and Sophie both raise a brow and give her an intent look.

“You agree we can’t have this!” she slams her little palm on the table. “Any ideas?”

“I’ve been there, several times... One can wear a mask.” Nat confesses casually.

“Oh. My. God! How come you never told us?!” Pepper gasps.

“I didn’t think you _ladies_ even knew of such a place.” Nat scoffs.

“Really, Nat! We were not born yesterday!” Sif grumbles.

“Oh, Nat! How charmingly decadent! Could we go, just the three of us, or do we need chaperones?” Pepper huffs, clutching her fingers together, eyes wide in excitement.

Sophie too raises her brows interrogatively.

“Oh, dear! I have roused the beasts! All right, Clint will take us.” Nat decrees.

                                                                                -o-

“ _’Marche ou crève'_ will be home in two weeks!” Tony hollers when entering Fandrall’s lounge where Steve, Hogun, Clint and their host already enjoy a glass of fine brandy, a stiff cup of coffee and the best Cuban cigars.

“Can you believe there’s been five years...?” Steve says pensively.

“So, Hawkeye, you say he’s even bigger than he used to be?” Tony asks, but isn’t waiting for the answer.”That’s not good! He’ll dwarf us down... except for _Francine_ here.” He shamelessly snatches Fandrall’s glass and downs it.

“Aggravating ass...“ the man mutters and goes to pour himself another drink. “Your ego is too overblown, Anthony. You couldn’t be dwarfed by a _tyrannosaurus rex_.”

There is a small snort, but no one could swear it was Hogun.

“The man’s huge! He’s got arms the size of my head!” Clint says. “He collected a few scars and he looks mean. No longer the ‘golden puppy’...”

“We’ll give him a couple of days to adjust, _then_ we’ll throw a party.” Stark decrees. “We’ll just have to make sure it’s bigger and noisier than Borson’s.”

“Why not do something different? Why not a special celebration at the ‘Ygdrassil’?” Clint suggests. “We could check with Madame Frigga to have the best show, food, drinks and errr... _entertainment_ . You can’t really have all that in anyone’s home, can you?”

Fandrall lights up. “Not a bad idea at all, old chap! You can count me in!”

“I like the place, it’s... _entertaining_ enough...” Hogun agrees with a small wink.

Clint is sighing inside with relief. Nat will most likely kill him... not really, but do eeevil things to him if he won’t be able to manoeuvre his friends into this. He’s closer to victory each passing moment.

“The girls won’t like it...” Tony grumbles.

Clint’s heart sinks. Then help comes where he least expects it from.

“Let them throw a small private party after Borson’s. They don’t have to know about our _boys’ evening out_. I’m sure you’ll come up with something to get away. It’s not like you didn’t before.” Steve says.    

                                                                                                -o-                                                                         

Thor stands on deck, leaning on the railing. The wind blows his hair which he stopped cutting short about a year ago. The steamer cuts through the waves steadfastly but Thor looks behind the ship, at the foamy slipstream, without really seeing it.

He met many people in the last five years, all sorts of people, of different shades of skin and soul, each of them with different beliefs, opinions, likes and dislikes, none of them just good or bad. He lost his innocence and idealism somewhere on the road and did things he never thought he’d do or even try. He killed people, not only from a distance, but also in close combat or even from behind when stealth was needed, not only under orders, but also in tavern brawls before he was able to restrain himself. He sought to forget but he found the way to understand instead, even if he didn’t agree.

He wonders what his friends would see, if they would be able to comprehend his new self. But pondering will bring him nothing now. He’s made his decisions and will face the consequences.

                                                                                -o-

               

“Loki?”

Sigyn slowly opens the door to Loki’s room because there is no answer to her knocking.               He’s lying on the bed face down, seemingly asleep, still naked as he left from the laundry. She is certain he’s pretending, but she doesn’t want to upset him further. She just picks up the free side of the quilt he’s lying on and covers him as well as she can. She places a soft kiss on his shoulder then retreats soundlessly.

The green silk of the quilt is wet under Loki’s cheek. 


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of the 'prodigal son'.

Anthony Edward Stark doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘enough’. He’s hired a brass band and paid for a triumph arch brashly decorated with flowers, ribbons and balloons. His car and his friends’ cars are embellished in the same way. Only the missing tin cans dragging behind one of the vehicles tells them apart from a wedding cortege.

The ship is slowly closing in. The people on the quay can hear the officers’ shouted orders. The anchor drops in a rattling of heavy chains and a grand splash. The sailors rush to set the passengers’ board.

Some people on the dock shout greetings towards the loved ones they wait for, who are already on the deck. Thor is there too, dressed in casual clothes, no luggage. He spots the garish welcome party and his eyes widen in mock horror. The brass band is playing the Radetzky March like they expect some royalty. The other passengers on the deck are shooting curious glances, asking themselves what’s the meaning of the entire ruckus. Thor can only laugh and he’s the first to go ashore, merrily hopping down the plank.

He is met with hugs, back pats and kisses, all wrapped in an uproar of we-missed-you, man- you’re-huge, welcome-home, let-me-hug-you again, never-pull-such-one-again-on-us and other things he can barely understand while he takes his friends in noticing only very small changes, as if he left only a week ago. Tony is still the same, loud and annoying; he tips off the man who carried Thor’s luggage.  Pepper blows her nose in a pretty handkerchief, Clint and Nat squeeze him in their arms in turns (everybody does that, in fact), Francis rubs his back, shoulders and arms and is agitated to no end, Sif inspects him as if she has to asses his health condition, Steve has a blinding grin plastered on his face, Volstagg bawls unashamedly and even Hogun’s eyes are wet as he is shyly smiling.

Thor’s wide smile fades and he squints as he’s staring at something. Nat and then Clint and Tony turn their heads to where he’s looking. There’s a black Rolls Royce Phantom parked near and the man at the wheel is leaning an elbow over the opened window, looking utterly bored. It’s Tyr, Odin Borson’s right hand and some whisper he’s also Borson’s thug. Rumour has it Tyr’s one of Odin’s illegitimate children and if anyone would care to compare young Odin’s photos with today’s Tyr, they would find quite a resemblance.

“I’m sorry, my friends, but it looks like father is eager to see me. I’ll meet you later at Tony’s, right?” Thor says displeasure clear in his voice.

He walks towards the Rolls and Tyr opens the door for him without a word. His friends watch in silence. Tony waves at the brass band to stop playing.

                                                                                -o-

The ‘Ygdrassil’ is in an uproar. Everybody is talking of one thing only: billionaire Anthony Edward Stark’s private party. He booked everything and everybody in advance and specifically asked that the artists and ‘pleasure providers’ be free one day in advance so they are well rested and fresh. He and Madame Frigga had a two and a half hour long discussion regarding the menu and programme. Everybody tried to guess how much he paid for it, but Frigga and Snotra, her right hand and accomplice, wouldn’t let anything slip.

“You must be the most annoying cock-sucker on the face of God’s Earth!” Sjöfn shouts. “And you too, you black viper!”

Loki and Nótt, the objects of her frustration, only look at each other, shrug and look quite bored. If they are curious too, no one will see that on their faces or notice it in their demeanour.

“Would it be of any consequence if we ran in circles like headless chicken?” Loki asks, raising a brow. “Besides, there is no need to call us names. I’m sure we’ll find out what we need to at the right moment. Keep your panties on... or not, if you wish.”

Nótt snickers. Sjöfn must be out of sorts for being forbidden to ‘treat’ her addiction.

“Now, hush! Run to Mother to take your drops!” Loki dismisses her with an arrogant wave of a slender, perfectly manicured hand.

Sjöfn mumbles curses under her breath, but does as told.

“Drop the act, you bastard! You’re as curious as us all. Well, let me tell you: Freyr and I will take the cherry off the cake this time!” Freyja sneers and shows Loki her middle finger.

“Dream on, bitch!” Nótt spits behind her when she turns to leave.

Loki puts his hand on Nótt’s arm. He falsely sweetens his voice.

“Not before I’ll take all the cream, honey! You and your better half can split the cherry then.”

“Fuck you, you freak!”

“I’d rather not! You are fairly boring after a while...” He drawls.

Freyr shoots Loki a reproachful glance and drags his sister out before she can turn and assault him.

“Must you always...?” Sigyn asks softly.

Loki sulks and doesn’t answer. He has avoided Sigyn since the infamous waxing day. He doesn’t wish for her comfort. He doesn’t need anyone’s soothing affections... or so he lies to himself.

                                                                                -o-

Thor finds all the manor’s personnel waiting for him in the hallway. The men bow and the women curtsy, all looking genuinely happy to have him back. He was always polite and considerate to them, unlike his tyrannical father. He smiles and shakes their hands, kisses Hilda on both her rosy cheeks, bows a little too much and winks at the two young maids who only stop giggling when the butler glares.

“I’d like to greet father now.” He says, face serious again.

“He is waiting for you in his studio, master Thor.” The butler says and dismisses the staff.

Thor nods and heads towards the room his father spends most of his time in. He stops shortly in front of the massive door. He sighs. He has imagined this moment many times, many different ways, but all still sits heavy on his chest. He opens the door swiftly and stops for a moment. He knew of Odin’s ailment, but seeing it with his own eyes is something else entirely.

His father sits with his back to the door, facing the large windows. His hair and beard are snow white, as much as Thor can see. The one hand resting on the wheel looks like a shrivelled old root, brown and knobbly.

“Father...” he whispers.

Odin turns his wheelchair and faces his son. The good eye is cold and glassy. The other one is half lidded and his face looks ten years older instead of only five.

“You are a vain, reckless, cruel boy...” he mutters. “To leave like that... with no explanation... What if...? Have you given half a thought about Borson & Co? With me gone and you missing? Three generations’ worth of hard work blown to the four winds because of a whim?” Odin says, voice growing louder.

“I missed you too, father.” Thor replies bitterly. “And I am well, thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't easy to write... It's a long run project and I'm sorry for the long hiatuses. Love you all, Sigyn.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming party and show. The long expected encounter! Enjoy!

Thor didn’t imagine his father to shed tears of joy or to raise his hands to call his son into a hug, but he wasn’t prepared for that kind of speech either. All the old man cared about was the bloody company and it being torn apart by greedy relatives and competition. He only saw his son as an extension of his own life and expected him to follow in his footsteps. He even said that, after a period of adjustment, Thor would start to earnestly involve himself in the family business, to become a worthy heir to the Borson legacy. He was wiser now than to let his father know his opinion on the matter and listened patiently.  Odin made his speeches and, meeting no opposition, fell silent at some point.

“If you’ll excuse me, father, I have to unpack and meet my friends after. I won’t leave anywhere soon, so we can discuss family matters anytime you wish.” Thor said and turned to leave after Odin waved a hand in dismissal.

                                                                   -o-

After a short phone call and fifteen long minutes, Tony parks in front of the Borson manor.

“Another one?” Thor wonders inspecting the red and gold convertible Buick all polished and shining in the sun.

“You know I love them! The more, the better! Hop in!” Tony grins.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to buy one for myself. Will you help me choose?”

“Sure thing, Lion King!” Tony bellows and aggressively starts the car.

They don’t take longer than ten minutes to reach Tony’s house and everybody’s there cheering again.

Thor has a large trunk full of gifts for everyone: beautiful cashmere and silk shawls for everyone to choose from, a pair of gold and pearls embroidered oriental slippers for Pepper, a curved Arabian dagger in a wonderfully gem adorned sheath for Sif, a massive antique silver bracelet with turquoises for Nat, a collection Hijazi bow and quiver for Clint, an ebony and ivory hair and beard toiletry set for Francis, a pistol taken after a scuffle with the Nomads for Steve, a silver covered Quran inlayed with rubies for Hogun and an Egyptian water pipe, a _shishah_ , for Tony.

There is also a lovely beaten copper coffee set for Hilda, toys for the children and a pair of fur lined comfortable boots for Volstagg.

“You are absolutely wonderful! Not even I could have chosen better!” Pepper, the expert in gifts, exclaims.

They all laugh at Tony’s struggles to figure out how the pipe works, so Nat and Thor have mercy on him and teach him.

“He has no qualms in handling the most modern contraptions, but he’s totally lost with anything older than his first car!” Francis chuckles.

“Look who’s talking! The man still wearing a monocle! You look like my grandpa! ” Tony sneers.  

“Your grandfather, may his soul find his rest, although I strongly doubt it if he watches over you, was a very elegant man, so I can’t take offence.” Francis answers, pointing with his cigar at the large painting above the fireplace.

The friendly banter goes on, they have a few drinks, coffee and cigars, and Thor can’t help but feel at home at last...

                                                                    -o-

Clint calls him to fill him in on the arrangements for his home coming party. Thor is ready to decline, but he doesn’t have the heart to break their bubble. He might, after all, welcome the distraction and he’s kind of curious about the cabaret.

The boys meet at Steve’s, but Clint is missing. Steve calls him.

“He says he’ll be a little late, but he’ll meet us there. You know Clint, no explanation...” Steve says apologetically.

When they arrive at the ‘Ygdrassil’, Thor confesses he is impressed. 

“The house was in the family of the Duke of M... The last descendant sold it out to cover his playing debts.” Francis explains. “Nobody knows who the real owner is. _Madame_ Frigga only runs the _etablissement_. “

“ _Madame_ Frigga?!” Thor asks incredulously.

“Your family doesn’t own the monopoly on old Norse odd names.” Tony laughs. “Wait until you see the ‘dessert menu’!”

They are invited to sit on one side of a long table, facing the scene. A small orchestra in a corner is playing soft tunes. They are served appetizers when Clint appears accompanied by three masked ladies, dressed to kill. Nobody has any doubts about their identities.

“Sweet Jesus, Clint! Girls! Are you out of your minds?!”Tony hisses.

Pepper puts a black gloved hand on his arm.

“Don’t make a scene, Tony! We wanted to have some fun too. Now, relax and let’s enjoy!”

Hogun and Clint look a bit stiff, but, gentlemen to the boot, they help their respective girlfriends with the chairs. Tony grunts and sits down. Steve frowns at him and helps Pepper. She seems totally cool and unaffected and thanks Steve graciously. Then she leans toward Tony and whispers sweetly:

“Don’t ever again assume I don’t know everything about you, Anthony Edward Stark!”

The first number is a musical one. It’s funny, the lyrics are full of _double entendre_ and the dancers know their job.

The second one is a duo: a sweet looking young man with a guitar and a very young girl, Höðr and Nanna. They sing a beautiful love song that makes Pepper and Steve sigh, Francis sniff and Tony roll his eyes. The girls and Thor are somewhat relieved that the show is not some vulgar, second hand performance so far. In between the numbers the orchestra plays quality jazz.

Vár and Vör, dressed in sumptuous red and gold costumes, perform a very graceful Thai dance. They come back after a small pause with a contortionism number that makes the new spectators gasp.

An astonishing mirror and costume change number is next. The audience has troubles in discerning the twins with all the swift changes in costumes and their near perfect synchronization. They draw a long applause and the female half of the duo is blowing each of them kisses and hypnotizing looks. Francis waves at them enthusiastically. He whispers information about their other talents to whoever wants to listen. 

“Oh, do shut up!” Tony hisses at him and Pepper chortles.

The next is Sigyn. She wears exactly as much as to cover the essentials and the audience is entranced with the muscle play under her skin. She does her acrobatic solo with such grace and makes even the most difficult moves look so easy that everybody at the table is up and applauding. She smiles shyly and bows, then runs behind the curtain.

After another musical pause there is a humoristic sketch performed by Snotra and Bragi. It’s about a lady supposed to meet her daughter’s suitor who meets a car mechanic and the misunderstanding is hilarious. The fine food and the drinks contribute to the cheerfulness and they all laugh to tears.

There is a longer pause after the sketch. Everybody is still commenting on the show when the serving girls light several candles on the table.

“Aaaah! The attraction number!” Francis comments.

Steve shushes him.

The lights in the hall go out. Something flickers on stage.

There is an oval metal frame with little cups holding oil lamps that flicker around what looks like the statue of a Hindu deity. On a pedestal representing an ugly dwarf demon, balanced on one foot, holding a graceful dance poise is the golden figure of a young man.

His wavy, long hair is partially bunched on the top of his head in a round bun, a new moon and a skull hairpin holding it up; the rest of it is left hanging over his shoulders. A golden head chain ornament adorns it, with an emerald pendant representing an eye hanging over his forehead, right between his brows. His long lashed eyes are closed and he has the most peaceful expression, golden lips forming the smallest, sweetest smile. He wears large, round earrings down to his shoulders and there are several necklaces and strings of beads hanging from his neck. A cobra armband coils around his right forearm and there are numerous bangles at his wrists and ankles. There’s also a ruby in his navel and, aside from a tiger skin patterned scarf over his hips, bound in a knot on his left, the only other garment he wears is a golden coloured silk _cache sexe_ that peeks from underneath it.

“Shiva _Nataraja_ , the Lord of the Cosmic Dance, God of Fire, Destroyer of Worlds, he who is half woman...” Fandrall whispers in Thor’s ear.

Drums start a slow rhythm and the golden body moves. Two stage lights follow him, leaving everything else dark. Other Indian instruments hit in creating a sensuous melody. The man moves fluidly, like a cat or a snake and Thor thinks he has never seen such elegance in his life. Any ballet dancer, temple dancer or belly dancer should go green seeing this, because the man combines the dance figures of all the above styles in a flawless fusion. He jumps weightlessly, like a feather; his long limbs and lissom body twirl impossibly and his hips jolt tantalizingly. The muscle play beneath his skin is enhanced by the gold paint. He spins and his body undulates at the same time, no pirouette exactly like the one before, his arms and legs moving incessantly, creating living arabesques.

If Thor would risk sideways glances, he would see that all his friends are entranced, even those familiar with the show, but he can’t. He won’t. He doesn’t want to miss even a fraction of the magic unfolding on the stage. He can’t think; he only imbibes the vision, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his blood getting hotter by the second.

The dance ends too soon. The lights in the hall come to life one by one. The dancer presses his palms together, fingers pointing up in front of his chest and bows his head in a silent _anjali mudra_. Natalie rises first clapping in a measured tempo. She has witnessed Loki’s performances many times before and is a connoisseur. She took ballet lessons herself and never misses a good dance performance if she can help it, Clint or no Clint at her side. Pepper seconds immediately, picking up the same cadence, shaking her head in admiration. All of them follow, except for Thor.

                                                                -o-

Loki very rarely looks at his audience while dancing. He doesn’t want to lose concentration because of faces, expressions or gestures he might dislike. He disconnects and is alone on the stage with the music and the joy of the dance. Only at the end does he bask in the appreciation of the public and really looks at their faces.

He knows most of the present party people and even privately ‘entertained’ some. He smiles at each in recognition. Then he freezes in shock.

There is one man still seated, gazing intently, breathing heavily. Aside from his tanned skin, much shorter hair and slightly different hair colour, the man looks strikingly like Baldr.

They stare each other in the eyes, Loki wondering, his mind in a storm, the other man looking utterly awestruck. Loki can no longer hold his burning gaze, bows again and all but runs off the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's still on the list of you AU's aficionados! The next chapter will be very... hahem... /


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A closer encounter. The beginning of things. Next you will be served smutty/porny things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, had to split the chapter not to turn it into a monster. I hope it's enjoyable nevertheless. Tell me your opinions. I'd like to know if it's too... something or less something else. Thank you all!

                After desserts, during coffee, fine brandy and cigars, the guests were handed nice leather bound albums.

Nat and Clint left theirs on the table, clearly not interested, going to the dance floor, enjoying themselves to the rhythms of the newly introduced rumba.

Hogun and Sophie shared one album, him murmuring comments on certain pages. He didn’t seem bothered; Asian approach to sex wasn’t as stiff as the Occidental one. Sophie chuckled silently from time to time.

Tony tried to snatch away Pepper’s, but she was quick and just moved to Clint’s chair.

                “Don’t worry, _we_ are going home soon, that is, if you don’t care for dancing...” she said with a smirk.

                Steve was simply too embarrassed by the girls’ presence to stay for the night. Nótt would be disappointed, but he would make it up to her with one of the shawls Thor had gifted them all. He didn’t think Thor would mind...

                Francis tried to guide Thor through the album, but the latter wouldn’t pay much attention. He would just hum noncommittally and wasn’t even looking as Francis turned the pages. Not until he heard Loki’s name.

                “What? I thought he was just a performer...” he said, suddenly alert.

                “Oh, no! He’s the most prized asset here! He is not only superbly skilled, and I don’t mean only artistically, but also exceptionally endowed. Look!” Francis said emphatically, turning the page to a nude photo of the subject of their conversation.

                Thor’s jaw fell a little and he frowned. The person he thought to be just a very enticing young man was something he only seldom heard of but never, ever believed to meet.

                “ Do you think...?” he stopped and cleared his throat looking at Francis sheepishly.

                “You dog! Of course! They’re all booked for tonight, so you can have anyone you wish!” Francis chortled lowly.

                “I just wish to meet him, have a chat maybe...” Thor said, a flush creeping on his face.

                “No need to feel awkward, old chap! Sometimes I too enjoy me some harder flesh, if you know what I mean!” Francis winked. “Let’s take you to Mamma Frigga to talk details.”

They stood up and Thor felt his friends’ eyes on him.

“Gentlemen’s room...” he muttered, then turned to Francis. “I really need to go there first!” he whispered into his friend’s ear, utterly embarrassed.

“I wonder which one made our Golden Boy’s pants go tight?” Tony said, earning a reproachful glance from Steve.

                                                                    -o-

Loki wasn’t sure what to expect.  All Frigga said was that his client was undecided, but he was very unambiguous on one thing: he wouldn’t in any way hurt his partner. Loki felt compelled to believe that. The man radiated a completely disarming candour. The only name he gave was Thor. Loki didn’t believe it was his real name and laughed it off. He even made a joke concerning the man’s arrogance.

“He surely thinks he wields a mighty ‘hammer’. I’ve met the likes of him before.”

Frigga looked at him apprehensively.

“You just be careful, darling! I’ll have Heimdall stand close.”

He prepared carefully, same as for any busy night. He administered himself a warm herbal infusion enema Vár and Vör taught him to use instead of soap water. It was a mixture that helped relaxing the area and protected it from infection. They also mentioned it contained light aphrodisiacs. He took a quick bath and rubbed some pleasantly scented cream all over his body to keep his skin soft and supple. He also oiled and stretched his anal muscles just to be sure he would avoid accidental injuries. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth with mint-lemon water. A drop of perfume on his wrists and another combed into his hair and he felt ready. He actually felt eager, if he were to be honest to himself. Never before did he wish for a client to choose him except for the amount of money one would pour into his lap, but this man... _Thor_ was somehow different. Loki refused to ponder more about the fact that he would have let the man take him for free...

He contemplated wearing make up instead. No. Definitely not. He was hired for the entire night so it wouldn’t do to have sweat and make-up running all over his face.

Then there was gentle knocking at the door.

                                                                   -o-

Loki can see now that, despite the uncanny resemblance to Baldr, there are fine differences. Thor’s hair is coppery gold with lighter streaks, and only reaches over his collar. His eyes are a different shade of blue under very dark lashes and they have hardness and sadness to them, unlike Baldr’s mostly placid or bored gaze. His strong nose seems to have had some encounters with fists or other hard items, but it’s not unpleasant to look at. His lips are not as full as Baldr’s, but they are prettily shaped and Loki thinks Baldr’s mouth is a bit too vulgar anyway. Thor is also taller and broader than Baldr and he is deeply tanned, the lovely golden tan only few blonds get. He is even taller than Loki and it’s something so rare in a client that he doesn’t know if he likes it or hates it.

“Good evening!” says Thor and, if Loki wasn’t already charmed by the man’s appearance, the deep baritone goes straight to his groin.

“Good evening, Thor!” he answers sweetly and gestures for Thor to come in.

                                                                 -o-

Loki is even lovelier without make-up, Thor thinks. He is fair skinned and the dark hair and brows are making a striking contrast. From this close Thor can see now that his eyes are green and he marvels at their shine in the dim light. His raspberry pink lips curl up in a sinful little smile. The upper one is thin, a perfect bow, and the lower one is just a little fuller and Thor can’t help but imagine... things. When Loki greets back, his voice is low and melodic, promising delightful sounds in the throes of passion.

Thor is at the point where he asks himself what’s happening to him.

The black kimono with golden dragons and green trimmings Loki’s wearing doesn’t help him think... polite thoughts either. Thor notices it’s not a yukata, but a women’s kimono Loki wears like a geisha, neckline pulled low on his back to fully expose the nape and some more. He gets an eyeful of Loki’s back when he turns to close the door and takes in the fairly broad shoulders, slim waist and the alluring swell of round, firm buttocks tightly enclosed in shiny silk. His resolve to only have a pleasant conversation with the fascinating creature falters bit by bit. Especially when Loki turns his head to smile at him over his shoulder and only then his body follows gracefully, long pale fingers caressing the silk over his thigh.

“Care for a drink, maybe?” he purrs and Thor knows he has lost the battle.


	9. 9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Le smut! I'm drowning you in details. I hope you all had an epic fuck you can relate this to! ;-D  
> Sorry if I got carried away...

Francis feels obscenely happy about the two redheads battling over his -for the moment- exhausted cock. He knows that, very soon as a matter of fact, they will get life back into it. They’ve done it before, they can do it again. He would have taken Loki too, the combination is his absolute favourite, but Thor has Loki now. He shivers thinking of the prices, but Tony is paying all the expenses for tonight and that’s good. He has to be more careful with his money; gambling and whoring aren’t the best ways to do so...

                                                                -o-

Sif purrs under the expert little hands and feet kneading her oiled body.

Hogun booked Vár and Vör for them and she took his gift elegantly. He said she may have anything she chooses, but if she settled only for massage, that would be all right too, he wouldn’t push her further.

Her wishes are his command. At least in private... She decides to try more. She can stop it any time.

                                                                -o-

Nat and Clint are not new to the ‘Ygdrassil’ and to its pleasures. The only trouble is that they can’t seem to agree on the next step. They are in _Madame_ Frigga’s office, quite disappointed that their first, second and third choices are already taken. They sit on a love couch and examine the album. Some of the pages get a firm ‘no’ from both of them, which makes them smile, some raise contradiction in the form of whispered ‘really?!’, ‘but...’, ‘geez!’, ‘what?’, but, in the end they settle for Höðr.

“He doesn’t even need a blindfold.” Nat says with an impish smile. “We’ll have Sigyn next time. Tonight I wish to play, not wrestle.”

                                                                -o-

Pepper finally got Tony to dance and they hardly noticed their friends retreating.

They kiss sweetly and suddenly Pepper notices Steve sipping a drink, awkwardly alone at the table. She giggles and pulls Tony after her.

“Ok, boys! The evening was great and I categorically expect you to invite me next time. Let’s go home!”

                                                                -o-

There’s music playing in the background, just a soft murmur and Loki gestures him to sit on a deep, comfortable _fauteuil_ , its twin in a close angle, armrests touching, a lacquered coffee table right in front with only a crystal ashtray on a small silken napkin in the middle. 

“Nothing too strong, please!” Thor says. He had enough to drink and he is already inebriated with everything Loki is.

Loki smiles and hums in approval. He squats in front of a cabinet and takes out two tall flutes and a bottle of expensive champagne. He places two napkins on the table, the cups on them and pops the cork open without a big fuss. He pours the drinks and then sits on the other armchair, pulling his feet under him and leaning towards Thor. He takes his drink and asks:

“What shall we drink for?”

Thor is at a loss of words. The kimono parted up front enough to uncover collarbones and a pale V of hairless chest. There are small beauty spots everywhere and Thor has to make an effort not to start counting them.

“Uhm... To you!” He says and raises his cup.

Loki lowers his eyelids and it would seem bashful if it wasn’t the way the tip of his tongue slides over his lips and the seductive smile that follows.

“Thank you, Thor, but I never drink for myself. I will drink for you instead...”

He raises his cup and touches it slightly to Thor’s. They take a sip, eye to eye, and put their glasses back on the table. Loki’s fingers slither over Thor’s. There’s a small electric shock and they both jump. Loki starts to laugh and Thor follows.

“Sorry! It’s simple physics, actually. Static... from the silk...” Loki says, a grin on his face, showing his teeth. He lays his fingers back, cool on warm, and nothing happens. Except...

They look each other in the eyes again and their smiles subside. Thor reaches out with his free hand and cards his fingers through Loki’s long hair. It’s soft and clean and the curls spring up when he releases them.

“Why the red streak?” he whispers and leans closer, inhaling Loki’s scent of cedar and lime.

“I was born with it...” Loki answers and tilts forward until their lips touch.

Thor’s fingers are hot on Loki’s nape, beneath the hair and he smells of ‘Old Spice’ and fine tobacco. His lips are soft and he takes his time tasting Loki, nipping gently, while his warm hand tenderly squeezes the muscles of Loki’s neck.

Loki didn’t know how tense he was. He melts under the touch and wants more. He doesn’t usually kiss his clients. They rarely ask and he’s happy about it. Most of them have a rancid breath and bad, filthy teeth. Besides, in his trade, the clients want his mouth mostly elsewhere. He shared kisses with Sigyn and Nótt, Freyr and Freyja, Vár and Vör, and this shouldn’t feel different, but somehow it does.

He kisses back hungrily and sucks Thor’s lips. He licks, asking for more, deeper. Thor obliges passionately. His hand glides underneath the silk and his burning fingers run along the bumps of Loki’s spine. They devour each other’s mouths panting and moaning, fingers clenched together over the armrest, free hands in each other’s hair or roaming over bare necks. But this isn’t nearly enough.

Loki is already hard and dripping from the inside and outside when he breaks the kiss. He feels embarrassment for being so eager. He stands and Thor does too. He unties the ribbon holding his kimono and lets the slippery garment fall off.

Thor opens his mouth in awe. He has already seen this body on the stage, but now it is better, closer. Before he can take in every detail, Loki is on him again, kissing him impatiently, agile fingers undoing his tie, unbuttoning, pushing coat, waistcoat and shirt off in a single move.

Skin on skin, cool on warm, arms force bodies to fuse. They are both dizzy and breathless when Loki breaks their kiss again. His hands wander down to Thor’s belt. He stops and his eyes question. Thor nods and bows his head to kiss Loki’s neck. He trembles slightly and fumbles blindly with the belt, the buttons, then slips his fingers under the waistband of Thor’s underwear. He is pleased that Thor doesn’t wear long johns, but modern boxers. His hands caress Thor’s buttocks while he pushes the clothes down.

Thor groans and bites Loki’s shoulder softly. His hands travel over the slender body, wherever he can reach. Loki’s muscles dance under his skin with every motion of his hands. When he carefully pulls the trousers and shorts off, Thor’s cock bounces free and slaps Loki’s. They both gasp, Thor because it’s the first time his cock meets another, Loki because it must the largest one he’s ever met.

Loki kneels unhurriedly and takes his first good look at Thor. _‘The ancient gods must be green’_ he thinks while his hands stroke Thor’s chest, abdomen, hips and thighs. The man shames every other man in existence, in every little detail.

Loki never really liked cock, but this one... it’s a piece of art, like everything else Thor is. Long, thick and proud, curved upwards and so aroused that the foreskin already slid back, uncovering the handsomely rounded head, red and glistening with moisture. He swallows thickly, his mouth and other parts watering shamefully. He sits on his heels and concentrates in untying Thor’s shoe laces and helping him out of everything still hindering free movement. Then his hands run up Thor’s legs, against the sun bleached hair, his thumbs stopping right under Thor’s heavy balls. He is met with a clean smell, of soap and musk. He looks up and sucks the tip in.

Thor’s breath hitches and he looks wide eyed at Loki working his cock with his mouth and hands. It’s not a new thing, but the way Loki does it is... is going to make him spill in no time! Loki nibbles and licks all along the shaft, he plays with his balls and licks them too, teases the crown with his teeth and pushes the tip of his tongue into the slit before taking as much as he can into his mouth and sucking hard. One of his hands works what doesn’t fit into his mouth and the other, slick fingers with saliva and pre-come, slides between Thor’s buttocks and over his anus. Thor startles and pushes Loki away.

Loki looks up wide eyed and confused.

“If you keep going, I’ll finish before we even start!” Thor says panting and trying to calm down.

“The night is still young. I believe we can start all over again many times...” Loki drawls smiling naughtily and licking his swollen lips.

But Thor won’t have it and pulls him up by the arms. He kisses Loki again, deep and thorough and this is another shock for Loki, since clients usually refrain from that after he starts working on them. He is so perplexed he forgets for long moments that he is the one supposed to lead the dance.

Thor kindly pulls him towards the bed and makes him sit. He kneels in front of Loki and warm hands cup his knees, gently pushing them aside.

“I want to see you... all of you...”

Loki obeys leaning back on his elbows and watches Thor studying him. It’s not the right word to describe it; actually, the man’s gaze is ‘drinking’ him in, like he’s made the most wondrous discovery in his life. It’s not the obscene prying or slight disgust he’s been watched with before, it’s the look of a child that has been gifted with a present he thought he’ll never get.

Thor lifts one not so small, but slender foot and reverently kisses the long toes, marvelling at the baby smooth sole and heel. He licks the inside curve of Loki’s foot making him jump and giggle. The sweet sound makes him smile too and he explores further, caressing Loki’s shins, kissing the insides of his knees and thighs. Every time he turns his head to alternate between limbs, his hair tickles Loki’s skin and it feels lovely.

Thor’s palms reach the top of the thighs and he stops. His thumbs slowly run up Loki’s outer folds that start just over the root of his cock. He bumps into the small nuts hidden beneath the skin. He parts them folds and uncovers the rosy, wet inner labia, very slim, barely two creases connecting at the top with Loki’s shaft skin. He kisses left and right, then licks upward over the entire slit, laving all the way up the cock. That’s when Loki shivers and tries to stop him. He pushes back Thor’s forehead and protests:

“I feel like I’m not earning my money here! This is about your pleasure, not mine.”

Thor frowns. He shoots Loki a dark glance and says:

“ _My_ pleasure is to give _you_ pleasure as well... and I would be _very pleased_ if you’d stop reminding us of your position here. It somewhat ruins the mood.”

Loki rolls his eyes. The fool wishes to play romantic. So be it; he has been through worse, to be honest. He might as well play along, it’s a nice change for once and the man is doing fine... too fine, as a matter of fact. He sighs and lets himself fall on the dark green pillows. He looks through his long lashes and whispers:

“You’re too good to me... I don’t deserve this.”

Thor’s features soften and he looks sad. Loki wants to laugh at so much naiveté, but something inside him stirs and he just stares back. He can’t be genuine, can he?

Thor climbs on the bed and starts kissing Loki all over: high hipbones, underbelly, sticks his tongue in Loki’s navel, hands wandering all over him, over his ribs, his chest... He stops there and kneads the soft flesh he finds covering the hard muscle and grins, happily surprised by the tiny breasts that look only like well trained pectorals until one touches. Loki’s nipples are a conical continuation of his areolas, unlike the small nubs men usually have and Thor suckles enthusiastically, ghosting his fingers between Loki’s legs, making him squirm and moan his name.

He can’t wait any longer, his cock throbbing painfully, so he kneels between Loki’s legs and bends forwards to kiss his long neck, sharp jaw and, finally, his lips, while he slides in. Loki is tight, hot, moist and welcoming and his hips rise to meet Thor’s. They both pant and kiss hungrily and their groins meet with wet noises, Loki’s leaking cock rubbing between their bellies.

They can’t keep it silent and the small room is soon filled with cries and groans that only add to their lust. Loki pushes at the headboard to find some leverage and sways his hips while Thor slams into him in a steady and powerful rhythm, kissing and biting his lips, his collarbones, his shoulders, his breasts.

Suddenly he pulls out and pushes himself up on his knees. Loki groans in frustration and nearly yells at him.

“Why did you stop now, you bastard?!”

Thor steadies his breath for several seconds, then grins widely.

“I have an idea! You must have some ointment at hand, right?”

“Oh! Right!” Loki huffs and tosses him the jar he keeps on the nightstand.

Thor yanks Loki’s rump on his knees, unscrews the cap and sinks two fingers in it. He slowly pushes one into Loki’s anus only to find it already loose and slippery.

“You’re not the only one with ideas, sweetheart!” Loki tries an impish grin, but yelps when two fingers stretch him unexpectedly.

“Tell me how...”Thor pants, pushing his fingers in as deep as they go.

“Ah! Twist... yes! Upwards... there!” Loki screams, tears in his eyes.

“Fuck, Loki!” Thor grunts and replaces his fingers with his cock.

But that’s not all; he also slides a thumb in Loki’s cunt and palms his cock, his other arm hooking behind one of Loki’s knees to keep him from falling off his lap while he thrusts in like it’s the end of all things.

Loki feels like he’s about to faint, all his blood gone south and comes shuddering and sobbing pitifully. His seed splatters up to his neck and his cunt’s juices trickle over Thor’s cock. He is limp and breathless while Thor comes too, pushed over the edge by Loki’s spasms around his cock and fingers.

Thor falls on his side trapping one of Loki’s legs beneath him. He’s heavy and Loki barely has the strength to whimper and adjust his hip before it snaps. His skin still tingles and his limbs are heavy and weak.

“You oaf!” he attempts to snap but it sounds more like a murmured endearment.

“Sorry!” Thor slurs and lifts a little to allow motion.

After Loki drags his leg free, Thor falls back heavily on the mattress. Loki pulls a drawer without looking and fishes out a towel. He flips it lazily over Thor’s crotch. The man wipes himself dry, then turns to Loki and chuckles at the mess. He starts cleaning from chin down while the source of his amusement watches him haughtily down his nose.

“Be thorough! I’m not moving an inch away from this bed.”

“Says the one who deemed the night young!” Thor laughs and the low rumble makes Loki vibrate inside with an unknown feeling.

Thor is not half done before he bends over Loki to kiss him. It’s slow and deep and Loki is absolutely sure he shouldn’t allow it because it’s too intimate and compelling but he tells himself he is booked for the night and it’s Thor’s right to put his paid-for time at good use. Besides, he doesn’t remember having such an epic fuck ever. Not even with the twins...


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feels. And sex. Loki has nightmares. Thor fucks them away. Excuse my French...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. I have many excuses, but you're not here for them. My RL is of little interest, so enjoy the new chapter. I hope it is enjoyable and will make up for the wait.   
> I love you all and I thank you for the time you take to comment.

They doze off after Thor pulls Loki as close as he can; Loki’s head nestled under Thor’s ridiculously thick arm, cheek pressed to an equally ridiculous pectoral – where did the man get those muscles?! – one leg over Thor’s hip, an arm about his waist, while a very warm hand fondles his shoulder and a hot, thick thigh presses against his groin.

They sleep like that for about two hours. Thor wakes first, with the feeling of soft puffs of breath against his chest and a very hot and moist something pressed against his thigh. He remembers and opens his eyes smiling, taking the still asleep body in. All he can see of Loki’s face are his marble forehead, thick but neatly groomed brows and long nose. His cheek and neck are buried beneath a mop of raven curls with one ginger stripe.

Loki has managed to wrap his long, pale legs around one of Thor’s - the same he pushed between Loki’s, up to his groin - like he climbs a pole and, while his legs are rather cool, his dual genitals are burning in comparison. Thor feels the twitch of a new erection building and at the same time he wants to laugh at how the tan on his own legs stops a palm over his knees and how white his skin is up to his waist, only a hue rosier than Loki’s.

Loki... the trickster God of Mischief and Lies from the stories he read as a child... But Thor thinks he heard the name on some other occasion, he just can’t pinpoint the exact moment. He furrows his brows and thinks of Frigga. She is also vaguely familiar. Where did he see her regal features before?

He can’t think very clearly when Loki stirs in his arms, weakly trying to push him away. He is obviously still asleep, but he tilts his head back and his face is crumpled up in distress. He gasps and mumbles something, thumping Thor’s chest feebly with his fists.

“No! Please! Stop! It ‘urts!” he pants and whines audibly now, squirming and shaking his head, beads of sweat peppering his temples.

“Loki? Loki! Wake up!” Thor says, trying to still the writhing body in his arms, certain that Loki has a bad dream of sorts.

Loki opens his eyes and sees the terrifying burning blue eyes from his nightmares staring at him. He screams and pushes so hard, he falls off the bed on the fur rug nearby and draws himself together in a trembling ball, hiding his face behind his knees.

“No! Go away! No more!” he sobs, rocking back and forth like an anguished child.

“Loki? It’s me, Thor! Look at me, please! I’m not trying to hurt you! Please!” Thor says, as kindly as he can. He wishes he could take scared Loki in his arms, rock him like a baby, kiss his fears away, soothe his fright, but he knows touching him now will do no good. He’s had his fair share of hits, bites and scratches from shocked women and children during the war, while trying to bring them to shelter with no time to make his intentions clear.  

Loki’s breaths are fast and shallow, but his head jolts up just a little from behind his knees and he watches Thor with round, shiny eyes through his tousled curls. Thor is kneeling on the bed with his palms up and makes no move towards him. He smiles encouragingly and says:

“See? It’s only me. Come here! You’ll get cold down there...”

Loki seems to recognize him, but instead of getting up, he groans and turns his back to the bed. Of all the bad times to have a nightmare, this was the worst. He never has clients staying over night; he always sleeps alone because he doesn’t need anyone to see his humiliation and now this! He bangs his forehead on his knees several times before warm hands grab his shoulders.

“It’s all right! Just a bad dream... You’re safe here!” Thor says and sits behind Loki, bringing his arms and legs around him, warming his icy back and kissing the prominent knob at the base of his neck.

“I’m sorry...” Loki says after a while, still feeling mortified by the display of his weakness. He is suddenly afraid he will lose Thor because of this graceless show. But he is only another client, isn’t he?

“Nothing to be sorry about! I somehow think it was my fault... I didn’t mean to scare you. Waking next to a total stranger can do that sometimes...” Thor says, tilting his head over Loki’s shoulder to see his face.

Loki chuckles half-heartedly. “You’re hardly a total stranger. Not after all we did earlier!”

Thor kisses the soft spot right below Loki’s ear. He knows sex can ease tension a lot so he nibbles and sucks at Loki’s ear lobe next, whispering low: “I didn’t need you to remind me... unless you’re in for another round?”

Loki sighs. His heart rate just got down from the dream’s horror, but Thor’s rumbling voice thrumming at his back, his warmth surrounding him and his intimate touches brings it slowly up again. He isn’t sure, though, if he is capable of completely enjoying another bout after this particular nightmare, but he is nothing if not professional. He hums and leans his head over one of Thor’s shoulders, exposing his neck and brings his hand up, to thread his fingers through Thor’s hair at his nape. He is rewarded with a wet, open mouthed kiss below his jaw and, if the sucking that follows won’t leave a lovely purple hickey, then he doesn’t know his own body any more.

Thor’s hands slide under Loki’s arms, cup his breasts and knead them tenderly. He pinches the nipples in the process, never stopping kissing, biting and licking every patch on his neck and shoulder he can reach and Loki feels the man’s hard cock pressing against his rear. His own cock is slowly filling up and his inner muscles twitch with Thor’s every touch. He moans happily, it’s all for the better. His other hand squeezes Thor’s thigh, very close to his buttock and he starts moving his body like a serpent to rub his skin over Thor’s.

Thor abandons one breast to skim his fingers over Loki’s taut belly and finds the half hard cock. He takes it and tugs, not stopping his other actions, making Loki arch and whimper and turn slightly for a kiss. Thor gladly obliges, gliding his fingers lower, into the damp heat of Loki’s quim.

Loki cries out into the kiss and sucks on Thor’s tongue wildly while Thor finger fucks him and rubs his palm over his cock. He’s doing it again; he pleasures Loki instead of chasing mainly after his own pleasure. But Loki couldn’t care less right now. This feels so good, so good...

“Fuck me! Please, Thor!” he sobs and lifts himself on his knees, torso still twisted to one side to see Thor’s face and kiss him impatiently.

They are close to the nightstand and the jar is still open. Loki pushes Thor’s knees down and together and straddles his thighs. He sinks his fingers in the salve and spreads it over Thor’s engorged cock, making him grunt and cant his hips upwards. The rest he smears over his arse and then guides the head to his twitching hole. He takes the whole rigid length in one go and stiffens, panting hard, to adjust to the stretch. Thor rubs his underbelly and resumes kissing his neck and massaging his breast. Loki sways his hips slowly, then starts moving up and down, moaning every time the crown drags over his sweet spot. Thor is too close to the edge for his own liking so he pushes his fingers back inside Loki’s cunt, not forgetting to palm his cock as well. Loki yells and comes all over Thor’s hand and his contractions bring Thor over too. He comes hard, biting the junction between Loki’s neck and shoulder, muffling his own cries of pleasure.

Thor reclines against the bed frame and Loki lays limp against his chest. They are still joined and Thor’s hand is still cupping Loki’s groin, his fingertips still inside. Their cheeks are pressed together and all they do is breathe and enjoy the bliss. Loki’s hand seeks Thor’s and they tangle their fingers together. He doesn’t know why he did that, but it feels more intimate than anything they did and it feels right.

Thor’s softened cock slips out and he chuckles at the feeling of wetness trickling over his balls.

“I believe we ruined your fur rug...” he says, kissing Loki’s cheek.

“I believe you’ll have to buy me a new one...” Loki says impishly.  

“Deal!” Thor laughs and pinches Loki’s butt while the latter rises on wobbly legs.

Loki yelps, but he laughs too and pulls Thor up. He takes them both to the lavatory and they help each other wash off the mess they made. Thor enjoys this new kind of closeness too, even if it is too soon to become sexual again and Loki has the opportunity to study the godly body of his client in detail. He pries about the scars while they dry each other and Thor tells him the story behind each of them. They go back to bed, under the covers this time and if Thor wishes to cuddle and make out, Loki won’t discourage him because he is the client and his wish is paid for and it actually feels nice and Loki is content and he won’t have another nightmare tonight.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More plot developing, strained attempts at humour, a bit of morning smut and feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are all mine. No beta so far. I am feeling so lucky for anyone still reading this! Thanks for your patience and support! :3

It was past nine and Odin was having breakfast alone. He asked Armin, his personal valet, of Thor’s whereabouts and seemed pleased to hear his son and heir was missing during the night and still didn’t come home.

“Youth!” he grunted with a small smirk and went on chewing through the carefully bit cut morsels. “Call Tyr, I’d have his company!” He ordered and Armin left with a small bow.

                                                                                -o-

“Good morning, boss!” Tyr greets and waits to be allowed to sit.

“My boy!” Odin stretches his good arm to shake Tyr’s hand. “Sit with me, let’s have a drink!”

Armin serves the drinks, the coffee, prepares the cigars and retreats after enquiring if anything else was needed. Odin waits until the heavy oak door is closed.

“Did you follow him like I said?”

“Of course, boss. He went with his friends to the Ygdrassil to celebrate. I couldn’t get in, ‘cause it was a private affair and I left one of my men watch the house. He’ll let me know as soon as Thor leaves.”

“The Ygdrassil...” Odin mumbled, his good eye turning pensive. “Does he know we own the place?”

“I don’t think he knows of any side businesses we run, boss. I also believe it’s too early to introduce him to those, but it’s your call.”

“What if that son of a bitch Stark knows? What if he finds out through other channels?”

“I don’t think Stark knows either. Also, I’ve made sure no business associates breathe a word to him. They know what’s good for them.” Tyr grinned.

“I have a feeling we’ll have to do something about the old whore mistress and her whelps sooner than we planned...” Odin grumbled. “Keep your eyes and ears open, son.”

Tyr knows Odin will never truly acknowledge him and he hasn’t any paternal feelings towards him, but it warms his heart to hear Odin calling him son. It’s a weakness Odin exploits, but as long as Tyr is aware, it doesn’t bother him much.

“I have everything under control, boss. My little spy tells me everything going on in the wasps’ nest. The moment I smell something foul, I’ll make the move.” Tyr said, a sinister determination on his face.

                                                                                -o-

They all met at Tony’s in the morning, except for Thor. Breakfast was a rather silent matter, only Pepper and Nat smirking and winking at each other over the table.

Fandrall had enough of the silly mood and spoke up:

“So, if any of you was wondering, I had a lovely evening! Seems Thor enjoyed it even more, since he didn’t grace us with his presence. Oh, and some were very much missed!” He went on, pointedly eyeing Tony and Steve.

Sif hit him in the ankle under the table, making him yelp.

“I’m sure all of us enjoyed the party! And Thor can stay there for a week, as far as I’m concerned. He deserves a bit of fun after the hell he’s been through.” Nat chirped in.

“I only wish I knew who he is doing the nasty with, especially that I’m paying.” Tony grumbled.

“You are an absolute prick, Anthony!” Pepper yelled. “Guys, I suggest we all shove him his money back into his paltry arse!”

“Whoa! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m only curious what big, blond and brawny fancies!” Tony defended himself.

“May I answer that?” Steve smiled mischievously.

Even Hogun laughed.

“I fit the description well enough too!” Francis grinned, puffing his chest up.

“You’re not interesting any more! I know you tried everything on the ‘carte du jour’! And you, Stevie, are quite boring, to be franc. It’s all _black and white_ with you.” Tony countered.

“Lame!” Clint quipped.

 “Weeell...” Francis drawled. “I know exactly who our Golden Boy chose, but I’m sooo not interesting... I don’t want to bore you to tears. Besides, he may have gone through the whole ‘carte du jour’ by now...”

“You’re not serious, are you? No man could possibly...” Tony frowned.

“He just might...” Hogun pondered, as seriously as he could. “There are stories of such men where I come from.”

“Nah! Not possible! What the heck?! Not even I...” Tony stopped, gulped and slowly turned to look at Pepper.

She only rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I know, Tony. I know all about ‘Iron Man’. I told you I knew everything, honey.”

Tony banged his head on the table... repeatedly. The others were choking with laughter.

“All right! All right! I deserve everything you guys think of me, but will anyone tell me who the hell is Thor rolling in the sheets with?!”

“Desperate much?” Sif snickered even if she was curious too.

“I may have a clue...” Nat said knowingly.

“Go on, princess!” Francis smiled.

“The best of two worlds...” she winked.

“Oh!” Tony blew.

“Oh!” Francis validated with a nod.

                                                                                -o-

The music on the radio stopped. The station was broadcasting news. Loki woke with a start and his head hit Thor’s chin.

“Ow!”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s nothing, just joking!” Thor smiles broadly and it is like the sun shining.

Loki definitely needs to stop thinking like that!

“So... Would you like something for breakfast?” he asks only to make polite conversation. He doesn’t know how to handle the situation since he never faced it before.

“Mhmmm!” Thor mumbles and kisses him.

“Oh...” Loki breathes as soon as his mouth is free. Judging by the stiff cock poking at his hip, he knows exactly what Thor wants for ‘breakfast’.

They kiss some more, touching each other, lazy caresses and grapples, until they are too hot under the covers and throw them flying. Loki makes a move to slither down to suck Thor off, but he is stopped firmly. Thor obviously wants to take his time. Loki complies and lets him take the lead... again. It doesn’t bother him much, he is accustomed to be directed and used, but this doesn’t feel like it. Everything with Thor feels like... making love and that bothers him. He isn’t supposed to make love to clients, he is supposed to service and satisfy for what they pay.

He tries to concentrate on the ‘work at hand’, but Thor is squeezing his breasts and sucking his nipples and he doesn’t stand a chance, particularly with their cocks sliding together between them. He whimpers and pushes harder against Thor, grabbing his butt. Thor groans and grabs back. They are kissing again, sloppy and frantic, sucking each other’s tongues, panting and moaning. They are rutting against each other, but it is not enough. Loki is becoming desperate with need and pushes his hand between them. He rubs his palm against their tips, slippery with fluids, and takes hold of both their shafts pulling up and down. Their kisses become mere brushes of lips and tongues, shared cries and gasps. When Thor’s hot, callused hand moves to join his, Loki wails and splashes all over their hands, his cock and cunt twitching wildly. Thor keeps pumping, eyes fixed on Loki who is now sobbing openly and thrashing in his grip from over stimulation, and comes in seconds shaking with pleasure.

Minutes pass until they come down from their euphoria and their breaths calm.

“I’m afraid this sort of breakfast will only make you hungrier!” Loki chuckles, in spite of his shattering heart.

“I’m afraid I stayed more than I was welcomed to...” Thor says distractedly, seeing the sun shining through the shutters.

“Don’t worry, Stark will get the bill.” Loki replies.

Thor frowns and looks at him reproachfully.

“I am more than capable of managing myself financially.” He retorts, clearly offended. He gets up and goes to the bathroom in silence.

Loki grips his forehead. He is angry, but he should not be. He made a point; he set the things straight. Then why does he feel so bad?


End file.
